Roads and Retribution
by starry19
Summary: 6x06 Tag - "She had just been so damn blinded, so certain she was about to get what she had wanted for so long that she had forgotten that this was Jane, and nothing was ever the way it looked. "
1. Chapter 1

**AN**: Whoa. This is going to be a two-parter so I can incorporate Jane's point of view. Don't ask me how I feel about the episode – I'm not sure. It was intense, no doubt there. And let's just hope when Bruno said they were going to tear Jane and Lisbon apart before they were put back together that this is what he meant because I'm not sure how much more angst I can take.

Also, I'm not sure how much I can in regards to waiting for the next episode, but that's a whole 'nother story, right CBS?

Remember, if you're bored, I'm on Twitter as starrynineteen. The Mentalist crowd there is pretty awesome, although sometimes we just shriek about our feelings.

**Roads and Retribution**

She was going to kill him.

That was all there was to it.

Assuming, of course, the damned idiot wasn't dead by the time she got there.

Fear washed down her spine again, and she picked up her pace.

Jane had picked an excellent spot to leave her in; she was miles from anywhere. No phone, no means of contacting anyone. To make everything better, night had completely fallen over the coast. She wasn't afraid of the dark, not by any means, but years of being a cop had made her edgy when it came to not being able to see all of her surroundings.

It wasn't like Red John was the only serial killer in the state of California, either. Another flare of anger blossomed inside her. Did Jane even think about that? There were plenty of evil people in this world that could be driving down this road and think she was an easy target. Yes, she was armed, but that was beside the point.

In frustration, she kicked at a piece of loose gravel along the shoulder. The son of a bitch.

How dare he do this?

Her head was spinning. She had been wound so tightly in anticipation of what was going to happen tonight that she thought she was going to crack. She was scared – scared of who Red John was going to be, scared of what Jane was going to do, scared of what might happen to him.

She had a feeling that had made her an easy target for Jane.

_You have no idea what you've meant to me. What you mean to me._

Said with the perfect amount of inflection and emotion to make her treacherous heart stutter in her chest, her always-repressed feelings rising rapidly to the surface.

And then she had been in his arms, her chin on his shoulder, his fingers pressed tightly against her back. Unlike the other times she had been here, she was brave enough to really return his embrace.

After all of these years, here they were. Jane was admitting his feelings, the setting sun serving as a backdrop, no less. She could feel the scrape of his stubble against her cheek, feel the heat of his body where it touched hers.

_What you mean to me_.

This was really happening.

_Just say it_, she wanted to scream. _Just say it_. After ten years she thought she was entitled to hear the words. Hear them and know that he meant them. That he wouldn't pretend to forget.

Instead, he tightened his hold, hand sliding down her back, and she decided that she would take what she could get. At least this time Jane wasn't pointing a gun at her.

When he pulled back, she was sure her face gave away her own feelings, but did it really matter at this point? In the middle of all of this uncertainty and fear, here was this moment of bliss, this collection of precious minutes where she and Jane got to be together, if only abstractly.

And then the son of a bitch drove off without her.

She had felt betrayal from him before but it did not make it easier this time.

Was it all a lie? Did he mean anything he said? Of course, he didn't precisely _say_ anything, just that she meant something to him. She already knew that. _What_, she wasn't sure of. But she had hoped…

No, again. It was just Jane being himself. Secretive, manipulative.

He knew very well how she felt about him, and he had used it to his advantage. His words had thrown her off guard, scrambled her brain long enough for him to steal her phone and then escape.

This was a first for him – using how she felt against her.

God, was there no low he wouldn't stoop to? No line he wouldn't cross to get what he wanted?

Her heart cracked a tiny bit more as she watched the Citroen speed off into the sunset, so beautiful just a few minutes before, now as cold and flat and gray as she felt.

Damn him. Damn him straight to hell.

There was a moment when she considered screaming in frustration. What the hell was she supposed to do now? Jane was on his way to confront his last five suspects, armed with a shotgun. Regardless of what Jane thought, there was no way this was going to end in the way he thought it would.

He had been so untethered these past few weeks, like he was simply making his moves at random. It was as if, this close to the end, he had abandoned all pretenses of strategy and was just winging everything. It was deeply unsettling, considering his usual methods of operation.

He was being driven by revenge, but it was no longer a calculated plot, and that scared her more than anything. If there was one thing she thought she could count on, it was Jane not doing anything without thinking the consequences out. This, tonight, could end in his death. He would have to be an idiot to not realize that.

Then she wondered if he had been telling her goodbye. If he hadn't meant what he'd said. If his confession hadn't been real. Serving a dual purpose, yes, but true nonetheless. In the same vein, she briefly considered the idea that he was trying to keep her safe by doing the one thing that would probably ensure she wasn't there when he revealed Red John.

She swallowed. Hard.

Taking a deep breath, she began jogging down the side of the road. Surely there would be someone coming along soon. She needed to get to Malibu, needed to get some police on scene.

She had spent the past ten years of her life trying to protect Patrick Jane, and he _did not_ just get to abandon her and drive off to his death. She wouldn't allow it.

Even if her heart was a little broken. But that was sort of a normal state when it came to dealing with him. She had almost gotten used to the feeling. Being in love with someone who was basically untouchable would do that to a person. He was so distant sometimes, so _above_ her. It was impossible to know what he really thought, what his true feelings were. She could imagine that he loved her all she wanted, but then he would go and do something like sleep with Lorelei Martins. Or leave her on the roadside.

God, her shoes were not meant to jog any sort of distance in. However, she couldn't stop. Jane needed her there, even if he didn't think so.

She had lied to him when she said she would let him pull the trigger. Of course, he knew that. Jane knew her better than anyone. There was no way she intended to let that happen. In front of four other witnesses, there would be no escaping murder charges, nor the fact that he had brought five men together for the specific purpose of killing one of them. That meant the death penalty would be on the table, and she had fought too hard to lose Jane to this. To lose him to Red John, too.

Didn't he see that? That it would be one last victory for the serial killer? Or didn't he see that it would kill her, too? Did he care? Was he really that selfish?

She _would_ stop him from doing something that would take him away from her. It crossed her mind that he might not forgive her from preventing the vengeance he had worked so hard to get. That was something to deal with later, however. He would get over it in time. Red John, whoever he was, would be put on trial, would be found guilty, would be executed.

It would all be over.

Jane would have time to see that she had done the right thing. And, more importantly, he would have time to see it from someplace that wasn't behind bars.

She stumbled over an uneven patch of rock, invisible to her in the darkness, and she cursed herself. Really, how stupid could she possibly be?

_I have a surprise for you_. Yeah, right. Where was he hiding it in the car, Teresa? Next to the shot gun?

She had just been so damn blinded, so certain she was about to get what she had wanted for so long that she had forgotten that this was Jane, and nothing was ever the way it looked. She should have learned that years ago. Had Las Vegas taught her nothing?

By the time the third car passed her by, she was ready to shoot someone. Hell, it was possible the Red John suspects were driving by her. God, what if Bertram stopped, or Haffner? Would she get in the car? How would she explain herself? _Jane left me by the side of the road so I can't stop him from killing one of you tonight_. Yeah, that sounded great.

There was a long stretch of time where there were no headlights to be seen anywhere, and in the total darkness of the night, she knew she was rapidly running out of time. Drastic measures needed to be taken.

Looking back, she couldn't believe she had actually taken some poor man's car. And his phone. That was something she had seen done in the movies but had never known any police officer to do in real life. She didn't have the luxury of caring, though. Not right now. Later, there would be plenty of time to feel guilty. Hopefully.

When Jane hung up, she felt her throat close in something close to panic. She was still too far away. She wasn't going to make it.

The beach house was dark, totally and completely. As she ran to the door, she vividly remembered the last time she had been here, her last resort to pull Jane out of his fugue state. It had worked, and, at the time, she had hoped to never come back to this place. It was full of the worst memories she could imagine.

It also represented everything that held Jane back, kept him from moving on, a tomb for a living man. And he had chosen this place to end his chase for Red John, back where it all began a decade ago.

A chill of pure foreboding crawled up her spine. Nothing was ever going to be the same after tonight. They were going to _know_.

The beginning of the end, as it were.

_You have no idea what you mean to me._

The sliding doors were locked, too. Damn it, she would start breaking windows if she had to.

Turning, she saw the path that would take her to his old psychic office…and the cars belonging to the suspects.

Maybe, maybe there was still time. She didn't hear gun shots or yelling, nothing that said irreparable damage had been done.

Running now, she took one final second to pray that Jane could be saved.

And then the world exploded.

**AN:** Jane is up next, so stay tuned! He has some explaining to do, let me tell you what…


	2. Chapter 2

**AN:** Sigh. Hard to believe that so much has happened since Part One was written! The reason it took me so long to get this one out (aside from things like, you know, real life) was that the spoilers that came out derailed me like you would not believe.

In other news, GO VOTE for The Mentalist for Best Crime Drama at the PCAs! Vote every day, vote lots of a times a day, and we'll win this puppy. Seriously, go show the world that we're the best fandom out there.

And, in _other_ other news, keep your eyes peeled in December! The wonderful Donna and I are going to be working together again, and this time, we promise it's a Jane/Lisbon story.

**Roads and Retributions**

**Part II**

He was getting far too good at leaving her.

Oh, he had his reasons, and they were good ones. Revenge, protecting her, setting traps for the most evil person he had ever come across in this world.

It didn't make it easier.

In fact, he thought it kept getting harder.

He had almost gone back this last time. Had paused, for just a second, heart fiercely warring with itself, remembering the smile like sunrise that crossed her face.

But, no.

Where he was going, there were no sunrises. Instead, he had chosen the sunset, the impending darkness. The lack of light would prevent her from seeing the single tear that trailed down his cheek, but he did hope that she would understand he was doing it out of love.

If she was there in that final, crucial moment, it would be a distraction. He would be far too concerned with making sure she remained unharmed that his focus would be at risk. And he simply couldn't afford to make that mistake.

She would try to stop him from pulling the trigger, he was sure of it. She still had some misguided notion of keeping him out of prison, keeping him safe.

What she didn't understand, what she refused to accept, was that it wasn't about him. It never had been.

There were just things that needed to be done, and the consequences would have to wait. He knew that, was alright with it.

He just regretted that this would inevitably cause her pain. Of course, that was all he seemed to be able to do when it came to Lisbon.

Yes, he had left her on the side of the road. Yes, he had stooped low enough to distract her with her own feelings. He was under no illusions that he had done anything but break her heart.

Again.

That was something else he seemed to be getting good at. Of course, it helped that breaking her heart tended to be tied to leaving her. A two for one special if he'd ever seen one.

Vegas had been bad. He had hurt her tremendously. But she had no idea how much he had hurt himself, too.

This was possibly worse, mainly because he figured he only had about a sixty percent chance of coming out of it alive.

So he had told her goodbye.

_You have no idea what you've meant to me_, he'd said, before summoning enough courage to amend his statement. _What you mean to me_.

His bravery had failed then, and he had stopped short of really telling her how he felt. He could have told her that she was the reason he was alive, or not living under a bridge, or that he counted on her to be his moral compass, his touchstone, his safe haven. His salvation when he thought he was lost. His own personal saint.

Instead, he pulled her into his arms for the first time in forever, understanding that this could be the very last embrace they shared. The last time he would feel the softness of her hair against his cheek, physically feel her heartbeat, smell the combination of vanilla and cinnamon that always reminded him of warmth and home.

He could kiss her, he knew, could cross that final line. Then he could ride off to the final battle with the taste of her on his lips. But it was too cruel to Lisbon. He didn't need to taint her anymore, even if he could tell she was expecting it, had finally dared to hope for it.

So he had literally run away.

As he drove, he wondered what the odds were of her forgiving him. If he died, he wasn't sure she ever would. And if he lived…well, that was another story entirely. Her capacity for mercy had seemed endless over the past ten years, but he knew she had a limit. Knew there was a point of no return, a time when the lies and the secrecy and the coldness would be too much, even for her.

Were they there?

It was damnably selfish of him to hope not. He had absolutely no right to wish for her forgiveness. Being granted absolution from her should be at the bottom of his priority list. He needed to keep her safe, and he needed to kill Red John. In that order.

What he had just done would accomplish both of those things.

For her own sake, he couldn't let her be anywhere near Red John at this late hour. Animals were desperate when backed into a corner, and he absolutely would not let her become leverage. She was too precious for that.

From out of nowhere, he felt another tear spill over. He swiped at it angrily, fighting the urge to turn around. In this moment, she wouldn't question him, wouldn't demand an apology. She would merely give him a look that spoke volumes, then get in the car.

But he didn't want to see what her eyes looked like now.

If he was going to his death, he wanted his last memory of her to be when she was smiling. That was why he purposely hadn't looked back. Again, selfish, but he wanted to avoid the pain her tears would bring.

Strangely, he was utterly unconcerned about leaving her along the roadside of a dark California highway. The woman probably had at least three guns on her and the determination of a mule. He needed to drive fast – he was confident in her ability to find a way out of her situation in a frighteningly short amount of time.

If everything went to plan, she would arrive in Malibu just after he had completed his grisly task. That way, she could say she hadn't seen him actually commit the crime. Deniability, and all of that. The very least he could do for her was to try and save her job. Of course, it wouldn't work. She would fall on her sword to save her team. Saint Teresa, and all of that.

He could only hope that she wouldn't show up just in time to find _his_ dead body.

He didn't want to die, there was no question about that. But he was more than willing to do so to complete his mission. Instead of hiding behind Lisbon like he normally did, he was running headfirst into the most dangerous situation he could concoct.

The painted face on his bedroom wall reminded him of why he was here. He was here because he had lost his entire world in this house, and what he felt for Lisbon did _not_ negate the fact that he needed to make this right.

Yes, he loved her, more than he had ever dreamed he could love anyone again, but he belonged to Angela and Charlotte first. He had clung to them for a decade, even if they had let go of him long ago. He was here for Charlotte's blonde curls and the way Angela always draped herself across him when she slept. For his wedding day and the day his precious baby took her first steps.

Over the years, he had added more reasons that this was necessary, more victims, more moments. Most recently, he had added Lisbon's pale face smeared with a bloody smirk to his list.

But his family came first.

When his phone rang, the unfamiliar number flashing across the screen, he almost smiled. She had been faster than he thought. His efficient angry little princess.

And as he told her goodbye again, this time without any of the affectionate words he had used before, he felt closer to his wife and daughter than he had in years.

It had started here.

And he would end it here.

**AN, part 2: **Okay, I realize this wasn't particularly long, but I was just trying to justify Jane's actions, if only to myself.


End file.
